


Recovery

by likelike_love



Category: In Plain Sight
Genre: Don't Cry for Me Albuquerque, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likelike_love/pseuds/likelike_love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My version of the events following <i>Don't Cry For Me Albuquerque</i> ... a post-ep of sorts? Angsty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recovery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [papillongirl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=papillongirl).



> This has been kicking around for a long, long, long time. It was written for papillongirl. It was a heap of very unruly words until pipisafoat stepped in. Big thanks to pip, fly, and anna (31stcentury) for suffering through this story in its various incarnations.
> 
> [Originally posted](http://mary-marshall.livejournal.com/249506.html) on mary_marshall.livejournal.com on February 15, 2010.

"Hit the button, Mare." 

She slowly turned her head to face him. Her face was pale, her lips drawn tight. There was a thin sheen of sweat across her brow. "Go home, Marshall." The intent was menacing, but her delivery fell short.

"For Christ's sake, Mare. You're obviously in pain. Now hit the button before I hit it for you." He dropped all pretense of reading, and lowered the book to his lap.

"You wouldn't dare."

The movement of his hand from its position on the book in his lap was barely perceptible. At the sound of the beep, her eyes widened in surprise.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Actually, I'm pretty sure I just did." Mary drifted off before she could plot her revenge. He shifted his chair a little closer to the bed before picking up his book again.

* * *

"Give me my pants."

"Mare-"

"Give me my pants." 

"Mare-"

Mary struggled against the blankets to sit up further. "Have you hit your head recently? Can. You. Not. Hear. What. I. Am. Say-ing. To. You?" She feigned sign language as she spat out each syllable deliberately.

"Oh, I can hear you. I think the whole floor can hear you. Now, just hold your damn horses a minute, and let's discuss this."

"What is there to discuss, numb nuts? Give me my motherhumping clothes so I can get dressed and get the hell out of here!"

"I _could_ do that. But first, let's review a few things. Some of this you might not remember because, oh yeah, you were **unconscious** at the time. It's been a week since you were shot at fairly close range in the abdomen, sustaining enough blood loss to cause cardiac arrest. It's been five days since you came out of nineteen hour surgery still intubated. Three days since you started breathing over the vent. Mary, you only opened your eyes two days ago." He ticked each of these developments off on his fingers, systematically recapping the events that had brought them there, each moment he had lived and died by. "You need to give it a little more time."

"I'll give it all the time in the world. From home." She hovered at the edge of the bed, left leg dangling over the side, with her johnny hiked up, exposing skin from her hip to her hospital issue treaded sock. 

"Oh, well in that case!" Exasperated, he tried a different tack. "I'm sure Jinx and Brandi are at your house right now, preparing for your triumphant return, fluffing pillows, making soup. Which one of them do you want changing your dressing, Mare? Which one do you want to-"

"I don't want _anyone_ changing my dressing. I don't want a dressing. I don't want any of this!" She didn't recognize her own tone, whiny and desperate.

"I know!" Softer. "I know ... but when faced with the alternative, you don't- you don't understand how grateful I am that you have dressings to be changed."

"You're a sap, you know that?"

"Some would say I'm emotionally evolved."

She glanced down briefly, returned her gaze to meet his. " _Some_ would say you won't let me get dressed because you're enjoying the view."

A smirk. "Well, there's that."

"Give me my pants."

"Mare-"

* * *

It was two days later when Mary woke to a nurse running a thermometer across her forehead. Marshall stood on the opposite side of the bed, peering down. He was quiet and even more pale than usual. He looked like crap. She reached up to rest her hand against the patchy growth of stubble on his cheek.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"You need to shave."

"Yeah..." His hand came up to rest over hers. When her eyes fluttered shut, he lowered their hands to the bed. He stayed with her as the nurse left briefly and then returned moments later with help. He stayed while the three women rechecked her vital signs again. He held her hand as they drew her blood. She didn't protest when they missed the vein once, and it worried him. The first nurse pushed tube after tube into the vacutainer, each top a different color: a tiger top, a blue, a purple. After a brief period of discussion, she drew a long thin pink top tube, followed by two containers that resembled the bottles of wine served on international flights. One by one, they were filled with blood and passed off to be labeled.

He backed into the corner and respectfully studied his feet as the nurses deftly maneuvered Mary from side to side in bed. Efficiently changing into a dry gown, listening to her lungs, and examining the exit wound and her surgical incision in less than a minute. Gauze and adhesive tape were peeled back to reveal a line of 48 stainless staples spaced equally along an vertical incision that only curved gently to follow the contour of her belly button on its voyage from her sternum to her pubic bone.

Marshall paid close attention to the whispered conversation, picking out _febrile_ , _tachycardic_ , _cellulitis_ , _pneumonia_ , and _pulmonary embolus_. There seemed to be some disagreement, which was quickly resolved when an orderly wheeled a stretcher into the room. Four pairs of hands used the sheet beneath her to transfer Mary's listless frame from the bed to the stretcher. He was back at her side the instant the stretcher made it through the doorway. 

When Mary opened her eyes, the only thing she saw was Marshall's white knuckles gripping the siderail beside her head. She closed her eyes and heard the squeak of the wheels along the linoleum, the ding of the elevator as the doors rolled open once, then again on their way to radiology.

* * *

"Hey, they're already gone?" Marshall asked as he appeared in the doorframe. He crossed the room to set a styrofoam cup in front of her on the bedside table.

"Oooooh." Mary took a sip and made a face. "Ugh. Decaf? Seriously, what does a girl have to do to get an actual cup of coffee here?"

Marshall just smiled and shook his head.

"Anyway, 'already gone'? Spoken like a man who took the opportunity to head for the hills as soon as my family arrived. I'm surprised you didn't leave a Marshall-shaped hole in the wall." With effort, she kept her tone light, but frowned as she caught him surreptitiously checking out the antibiotic infusing through her IV.

"Hey, they hadn't been here since..." He started again. "I wanted to give you some time to..."

"I wasn't blaming you. Hell, if I were in fighting form, you'd have seen me beat a path out of here, too."

He settled into a chair beside the bed. "So, it went that well, huh?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "Peachy. All the inane nattering between the two of them, I doubt they even noticed I was here." She let out a frustrated sigh. "Whatever. What did Stan have to say?"

"No news." He regarded her appraisingly. "Hey. What happened?"

"Nothing." Mary turned away from him onto her side to face the door, snagging her IV tubing on the siderail. " _Nothing_."

"Nothing?" On reflex, he reached out a hand to untangle her.

After a moment of quiet, her voice was slightly muffled by the pillow when she spoke again. "I'm stuck." 

"Stuck?" He scooted forward in his chair to lean over the siderail in order to hear her better.

"Would you stop that?" She turned abruptly to face him, parroting, "'Nothing?' 'Stuck?' What are you, 8 years old?"

He cocked his head to the side, waiting for her anger to erupt or to burn itself out.

"Alright, fine, it's just ... I can't stand to be here another minute, and I can't tell you how little I want to go home to that. To them." The words came out in a rush that surprised even her. Her eyes widened and stopped just short of bringing her hand to her mouth.

"Okay." He reached a hand out, sliding it up and down her forearm comfortingly. "Okay."

"Okay." She closed her eyes.

* * *

He woke her by threading their fingers together and giving a gentle squeeze. Her head lolled to the side, cheek coming to rest against her shoulder. "Hey, sleepyhead, we're home." 

She opened one eye, then the other, taking a moment to pull his face into focus. "Okay," she said, closing her eyes again. Marshall shook his head, opened the driver's side door and left her asleep in the passenger seat. He carted their bags up onto the porch. Kicking two weeks worth of newspapers aside, he put his key in the lock and threw open the door before turning back to retrieve his sleeping partner.

* * *

Marshall was just starting to drift off. Mary had been stretched out with her feet in his lap since stubbornly refusing to retire to the guest room when they arrived home. By the time the opening credits of the movie she had insisted they watch had scrolled across the screen, she was out. He had tried valiantly to stay with it, but there were several complicated plot twists that he had somehow tuned out. The truth was that he spent more time watching Mary sleep than actually watching the screen. Eventually, exhaustion crept up on him. After a series of unintentional deep head nods that jerked him partially awake, he had leaned his head into the back of the couch and allowed his eyes to close, left hand curled around the top of her right foot.

"Hey, how was your date?" 

Marshall's head jerked forward, eyes snapping to Mary. "Huh? My what?"

Mary folded an arm behind her head and looked up at him expectantly. "I've been meaning to ask. How was your date?"

He cocked his head slightly, wracking his brain to determine what she could be talking about. Eventually, realization dawned. "Oh, you know ... typical date. Cocktails, dinner, dancing, a phone call telling me my partner was critically injured, me tossing a wad of bills at her as if she's a prostitute and muttering something about cab fare before abandoning her at the restaurant..."

Mary draped her free hand over her eyes. "Ouch. She's not returning your calls?"

Marshall looked down and began to straighten the toe of Mary's sock over her foot. She kicked up against his hand. "Marshall?"

"So ... maybe I forgot to call her." He wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Marshall!"

"Yeah?" He sounded sheepish.

"Not for nothing, but she deserves more than a call. That might warrant some flowers. A boombox thrust overhead playing Peter Gabriel under her window? Or ... I don't know. How do you say 'I'm sorry' in librarian?"

He gently lifted her legs and got off the couch before setting them down on the cushion he had vacated. On his way to the kitchen, he called over his shoulder, "Are you hungry? I can make dinner."

* * *

Marshall leaned heavily on the door frame of the guest room, watching Mary sleep. He had taken to looking in on her every hour or so, even when she was sleeping. He couldn't stop himself from peering through the doorway, ensuring she was still there, still safe, still breathing. He was hypervigilant, unable to sleep for more than half an hour at a time without startling awake, breathless. In the six days that they had been home together, Mary had been doing well. By all accounts, she was well out of the danger zone, but when she was not in his presence, terror was his company - ceaseless, unyielding, abject terror. In quiet moments like these, he sought reassurance from each rise and fall of her chest. Marshall tensed slightly as she sighed and shifted slightly in her sleep before settling again. The ring of his cell phone disturbed his reverie, and he quickly stepped across the hall into his own bedroom so as not to disturb Mary while taking the call.

As Marshall eased the door shut, Mary threw back the covers and levered herself out of bed with effort. She lingered in front of his bedroom door hoping to catch a bit of his conversation. Marshall had been sneaking off to take phone calls in private over the past several days. She had her suspicions that she was the topic of conversation, but this was her first opportunity to get some proof. With her ear to the door, she was able to make out Stan's name as well as her own, the words "not ready," and a whole lot of "no." Marshall's voice grew louder and then there was silence. 

When he opened the bedroom door, he was immediately confronted with a pajama clad figure in his hallway. He jumped back with a hand to his chest. "Jesus, Mare, you scared me." He took a deep breath before entering the hallway. "Are you okay? Do you need something?" He eyed her critically.

"I need you to quit using me as an excuse for slacking off, doofus."

"What?" 

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for moment then opened them again. "It's time for you to go back to work, Marshall."

* * *

He went to work. She stayed home. He was back every night at 5:30 without fail, often with groceries or a stack of DVDs. She sat at the kitchen table in her pajamas while he busied himself preparing dinner. He shared the details of his day with her because she asked him. She pushed food around her plate, nodding and hmming where appropriate, harnessing all available internal resources to keep her hands steady and her expression passive, all the while seething inside. She resented the hell out of him, for carrying on without her, covering _her_ witnesses in addition to his own, cheerfully and without complaint, while she remained holed up in his spare bedroom, sleeping on the sheets he laundered, picking at the meals he prepared. She balled a fist under the table, digging her nails into her palm.

Marshall made a move as if to get up when she reached out to pick up his plate. She lashed out quickly, angrily. "For Christ's sake, I can clear a couple of plates, Marshall." He raised both hands instinctively. She stomped off to the sink and slammed the dishes down, shattering a glass in the process. "Dammit!"

He was behind her in an instant, reaching around her to grasp her wrists, pulling her hands away from the shards, but she shook his hands off and spun to face him. Marshall held his ground and did not step back, let his hands grip the counter's edge on either side of her, effectively pinning her back against the sink. "Move," she growled through gritted teeth.

"No." His voice was as steady as his gaze.

"Move, you smug son of a bitch, before I move you." Her eyes flashed and her hands came up to rest on his chest.

"No." Marshall took a step forward, instead of back and wrapped his arms around her loosely. When she shoved him roughly, he let his arms fall back to his sides, but did not step back. He waited.

Mary's breathing was irregular. She bent slightly at the waist, trying to take some of the pressure off the abdominal muscles she had tensing unconsciously in their standoff. He brought just the palms of his hands to rest lightly on her upper arms. "Marshall, I don't know ... I don't know how to do this."

Tears did not come. That surprised her somehow. Also surprising was Marshall, standing stock still and silent. When her forehead made contact with his chest, she registered his sharp intake of air. It was almost as if she had jostled the words loose. "I know. I know. But we'll figure it out." His arms encircled her again, clasping his hands loosely at the small of her back. This time she did not resist his embrace. "We will."

* * *

Mary rolled over and looked at the clock. 2:17 am. She had gotten into a bad cycle of sleeping on and off all day and laying awake at night. _Oh, for crying out loud ..._ She turned to her side and pushed up to sit at the edge of the bed. The moonlight through her window illuminated the guest room door. She pressed it open and padded softly into the hall, heading to the living room to watch another infomercial. _Please don't let it be Proactiv again._

She had nearly passed Marshall's bedroom before she noticed the swath of light leaking out under the door. She paused a moment before raising her hand to knock softly. When there was no answer, she eased the door open, expecting to see Marshall snoring with a book on his chest. Instead, she was greeted by a rush of cold air and the vacant stare of two ice blue eyes. Marshall was propped up against the headboard, his lanky frame still, stretched across the length of the bed. She thought he might be asleep with his eyes open, but for his right hand clenched in a fist and his left balling up a piece of the coverlet then releasing, only to repeat the action again. His face was contorted in pain. The navy striped curtains fluttered in the strong breeze from the open window. 

"Marshall?" She found herself rooted in place in the bedroom doorway.

He shook his head slowly as if to clear his vision. The pain etched on his face gave way to concern. "Mare, do you need something? Are you okay?" He swung his long legs over the side of the bed.

"I'm fine. I'm _fine_. You, however, look..." she struggled for the words a bit, eventually gave up, "...not fine."

"Gee, thanks," he muttered, crossing the room. "You're okay?"

"I'm okay. Jesus. I'm fine." She shivered slightly, crossed her arms across her chest.

His expression remained serious. He laid a hand gently across her forehead.

"I don't have a fever, doofus." She batted his hand away. "It's like a meat locker in here."

"Oh." While Marshall crossed to the window, closing out the cold night air, Mary made her way to his bed, wrapping herself in the blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed. She waited as he stared out into the night for a moment. For the first time in weeks, she looked at him, really looked at him. She took in the stooped shoulders, the way his clothes hung from his too slim frame. He had lost weight and it somehow made all his angles even sharper. His hands shook slightly as he turned the lock.

Mary sighed deeply before calling to him. "Marshall, come sit by me."

He hesitated at the window, let his eyes close for a moment. He swayed a little on his feet. 

"Marshall, please." She patted a spot on the bed next to her. He moved slowly to rest on the edge of the bed and turned to face her. She held out her hand to him, wriggling her fingers. He grasped her fingers lightly and she tugged him towards her. He went unresistingly, but released her hand when he settled in next to her against the headboard.

She turned to regard him, unsure of where to begin. Eventually she opened her mouth and out tumbled, "Hi."

"Hi." He eyed her curiously, then busied himself smoothing the wrinkles from the bedspread.

"Marshall, please tell me what's wrong." She tapped just the tip of her middle finger on the back of his hand, stilling his movements.

Not trusting his voice, Marshall shrugged, turned his head away slightly to blink furiously.

Mary took different tack. "Marshall, when I came in here ... it looked as though you were having a nightmare."

He looked up again. "I was awake. I'm always awake..." He shook his head slowly. "I'm living the nightmare."

"Hey. Hey. Look at me." She cupped his chin in her hand, turned his face to hers. "Marshall, it's three in the morning, and I'm not good at this stuff even in the bright light of day. I need you to explain this to me."

"How can you ... how can you even stand to look at me?"

Mary struggled with a response. Instinct pushed her to be flippant, but she suppressed it. Didn't tell him she'd grown accustomed to his face. Didn't tell him he had a great personality. Instead she waited. With her heart in her throat, she waited. And did not, would not for one second avert her gaze.

"I failed you," he said quietly. "I left you alone with a witness ... in a dangerous situation ... and, and, and..." He could not seem to stop his stutter.

"And I got shot." She said it kindly, speaking to him as though he were a child. He nodded once. 

"You didn't cause this, Marshall. You couldn't have prevented it. If you remember, I sent you away. With my blessing. When have you ever heard me let you out of the heavy lifting?" She spoke slowly, made each syllable distinct. "You didn't know. You couldn't have."

"I should have. Jesus, Mary. I saw those bangers. I should have ... I shouldn't have left you. Look what happened."

She shrugged. "Sometimes bad things happen. It's pretty ballsy of you to try to take credit for the way the world turns, Marshall. You're good, but you're not that good."

He laughed, but it rang hollow. A moment later, he spoke again. "I let you down. And I can't stop thinking about how close I came to losing you. I close my eyes and I see you, lying on that gurney. You weren't breathing. And I did that to you." He raked a hand roughly through his hair. There was an edge of hysteria creeping into his tone. "And I can't ... it doesn't stop. I can't fix- I can't- I don't know how to stop." 

She could barely recognize him through the mask of pain. He was a man in agony. And it scared to think how long she had allowed this to go on without intervening ... hell, without even noticing.

"Marshall, listen to me. Hear. My. Words. You didn't break me. You can't fix me. And you're really hurting yourself trying."

"Every second of every minute you're not right here in front of me, I imagine I'll never see you again. That you'll disappear. You could have..."

"I didn't! I'm right here, Marshall. I haven't gone anywhere. I'm not going anywhere." At a loss, she laid a hand on his. "I don't know how to reassure you." _Wait._ She tugged his hand, pressed the flat of his palm on her chest. He flinched, instantly alarmed, but she did not allow him to pull away. "See? Heart, still beating. Lungs, still breathing. I'm not going anywhere." Marshall let out a shaky breath he hadn't been aware that he was holding. He scrunched his eyes closed in a valiant but ultimately unsuccessful attempt to stop the deluge of tears that had begun to fall.

She reached up beside her to turn off the bedside lamp and scooted down further in the bed, tugging a pillow underneath her head, all without releasing the hand clasped to her chest. "Now, budge down," she encouraged, "and sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

He hesitated, causing her to sigh, exasperated. "Marshall, get down here."

Marshall settled in on his side and she reached her free hand out to the back of his head, pulled him to her. He buried his face in her neck and sobbed. She ran her fingers through his hair on autopilot, whispering over and over, "I'm right here," until eventually his breathing evened out and his hand went slack beneath hers.

* * *

It wasn't until the morning light spilled through the window and across the bed that Mary dared to disentangle herself from Marshall's embrace. He stirred briefly in his sleep but calmed when she ran her fingers lightly across his cheek. She waited a few moments more, watching him sleep, before slipping from the room.

By the time Marshall emerged from the bedroom, she had settled in at the kitchen table and was nursing her second cup of coffee. His hair was sticking up in several directions and he wore a dazed expression.

"Good morning, Sunshine."

His mouth dropped open, "I ... Are you..." His eyes looked skyward. "Oh, shit."

She laughed. "Exactly. Now come sit down. I made breakfast." She gestured grandly at the table set with two bowls of cereal, milk and coffee. He took a step before she stopped him, "Bring some spoons, would you?" He pivoted sharply, made his way to the island.

"I called Stan, let him know you wouldn't be in this morning." The silverware drawer slammed shut. "What? Marshall, it's nearly 10:30. Should I have let them send out cavalry looking for you?"

"You should have woken me. I have to-"

"You have to get some more rest or you're no good to anyone. You seem to have yourself convinced that I can't do anything and you should do _everything_. Not only is that not sustainable, that's just not how a partnership works. Spoon?"

He crossed to the table and dropped a spoon into her waiting hand before slumping wordlessly into the chair across from her.

She maneuvered an enormous bite of cereal into her mouth. "We need to make some changes," she continued, with her mouth full. She swallowed roughly and swigged some coffee. "Staying here, holed up, hidden away from the world like some delicate flower or something, I feel like I _am_ disappearing. Marshall, the job is who I am. I can't keep sitting on my hands like this. And you can't keep up the pace you've been setting. You need to let me carry some of the load..." She gestured at him with the spoon to emphasize her point.

He opened his mouth to protest, but she held a hand up to stop him. "...As much for my sake as for yours."

"Mare, you're not ready to go back to work." His voice rose in alarm. "You're recovering from major surgery here."

She raised an eyebrow. "You can be in charge of the triathlons for a while, then." He looked dubious.

"Look, if I can prepare such a gourmet meal," she gestured grandly to the table, "surely I can sit at the desk pushing a pen for a couple of hours."

He snorted indelicately and muttered, "All evidence to the contrary."

"Listen, buster, just because I choose not do the paperwork doesn't mean I ... wait, I refuse to complete that sentence on the grounds that it may incriminate me. Look, with you around hovering, how much trouble could I get into?" His eyebrows shot up, but she continued undaunted. "If you leave me alone in this house one more day, I can't be responsible for my actions. I might give you a remodel, FBI-style."

He rolled his eyes. "Mary, you haven't been cleared."

"That, sleeping beauty, was my other call this morning. Go put on some pants or we'll be late for my post-op appointment."

Twenty minutes later, Mary was grabbing the keys to Marshall's truck from the console table and tossing the front door wide open. She had made her way to the driver's side before she realized Marshall was still standing on the porch. "Well, you coming, doofus?"

He leaned against the porch rail with his hand extended palm up. She rolled her eyes, exasperated and stomped back over to where he stood, dropping the keys in his palm. "Fine." Her tone was sickeningly sweet. "Why don't you drive, Marshall?"

He managed to dodge the fist headed straight for his shoulder after he replied, "Yes, Miss Daisy."

* * *

Two months later, they were separated briefly during a scuffle outside a courtroom in which shots were fired. The witness was secured, shooter apprehended, but Marshall's anxiety level continued to rise. He barreled through the double doors, picking up speed. Two deputy marshals called to him, but he could not stop. He flew down the hallway, eyes wild. Mary saw him take the the corner on a skid and called his name. She took him by the shoulder and pulled him into an alcove under the stairs, waited for him to catch his breath. The look in his eyes brought everything back to her. She pulled his hand to her chest in a familiar, comforting gesture. "Don't you listen? I told you. I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
